The icy storm relented on that fateful morn’,
That jocund day which hope was reborn,
As the winter sun meekly broke the shrouded haze,
I stood there watching the falls in a clouded daze.
Roaring and churning with a power sublime,
My heart leaped as it had many years before,
The water rushed, the sounds brought me back,
To a gentler time of yore.
When hope sprang from the sweet summer pines,
And the falls called to me like a spell,
Beauty clung to the air and grew quickly like vines,
I can see myself in the summer of life feeling so well.
Back then, a young man stood,
The only Frost to be seen was in a small book,
The warmth of life floating with the roaring mist into the wood,
Then a loud crash, the breaking of ice, pulled me back with a hook.
I stood in the place but without the warmth on my face,
The falls still churning, the mist still dancing and falling in place,
In that beautiful moment of grace,
I found that hope I once found in this place.
